


One Clear Morning

by lacewingss



Series: Inquisitor Nethra Lavellan [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 21:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3184031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacewingss/pseuds/lacewingss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a quiet morning for the Inquisitor and her commander.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Clear Morning

Fingertips drumming against polished wood, sunlight slashing streaks of gold onto sturdy floorboards; the lingering scent of leather and sweat. A breath of a sigh escapes parted lips, flushed and red and warm. Nethra's eyes flutter open as she succumbs to waking and the lingering wisps of dreams pass from her memory.

It takes a moment to place her surroundings, for the knowledge of where she has awoken to get through the mists of her sleep addled mind. When she recalls – the bed, the sunlight, the sound of a pen etching on parchment in the room below her – her lips turn to a smile. The room is not her own, though she feels as comfortable here as anywhere in Skyhold. The sparse decorations and possessions around her tell a story of a man who is running from his past, one who has run headlong into her at first hesitant arms.

She is not surprised to find the bed empty beside her. The faint memory of Cullen brushing hair from her face and rising early in the morning returns, and with it the events of their night spent together. Her recollection is so vivid she can almost still feel his touch.

Under thick wool blankets her skin scratches on fabric and she pushes them off, causing bare flesh to prickle as cold air flows over it. She stands, wishing to look out over the mountains as today she feels as high as the tallest peaks.

A night spent in passion has left her slightly weak; her legs seem shaky and her throat parched from the gasps of pleasure that had filled the quiet of the ramparts. She looks to the bedside table and finds a pitcher of water, a glass already filled. The thoughtfulness of her lover causes a surge of emotion and Nethra is left with a desire to once again be in his arms.

“Cullen?” She calls, her voice carrying down the open area of floor and reaching the commander's ear in a way that makes him envision the wind rushing through trees. It is sweet and musical and a thought of hearing it every morning invades his focused mind unbidden.

One glance at the pile of maps strewn across the table and he knows work will have to wait. Her call is that of a siren, luring him from shore into the depths of dark ocean water. Even if he wished not to drown he could never fight it, though the thought of attempting never crosses his mind. He starts up the ladder at once, hands pulling himself closer to Nethra rung by rung but not fast enough, never fast enough.

When he reaches the upper room he spots her standing by the window. She is dressed in only light and shadows, and _Makers breath_ she looks beautiful silhouetted in the rays of morning gold, each freckle in stark relief on tanned skin. He is loath to break the picturesque moment, but aches to feel her skin and see if filtered sunlight has warmed it. A movement less swift than any she would make and he is beside her, now together in beams of sun. She smiles up at him and Cullen cannot finish his exhale; it catches in his throat until he remembers he must breathe. It is hard to remember anything with her so near.

Thin fingers reach up and graze his neck, burrow into blonde hair. They are not soft but calloused and strong, accustomed to gripping leather and hilts. Yet still they are nimble and gentle as she works through matted curls. His own hand, larger, more lined, reaches to cup her cheek and she leans into it as his other arm encircles her waist. He pulls her into him – her body so much smaller, with such delicate form that the first time he worried he would hurt her. She is muscle and sinew though, skin pulled tight over strength she has worked to gain just as he has. Warmth radiates from her flesh to his, and he was right: the sun had touched her even through glass.

When he kisses her the world falls away around him. Troubles of war are drowned out by the sound of her quick breaths, worries over conquest and control are swept away by her hands in his hair. He no longer feels the pain of remorse, nor the grip of withdrawal that's so much like choking. All he is is the man he is becoming – a man who can at last look past the hate and tragedy suffered both by him and given by his hands.

He breaks away from her lips, hot breaths mixing as she slowly lets her eyes open to gaze into his. Hazel iridescent with love trap him and Cullen knows this is it. This is all he ever needs.


End file.
